


Black Russian

by shalashaskalot



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Bosselot, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, bb is 2 mysterious 4 u, mild xenophobia on a background character's part, ocelot is a sappy little bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalashaskalot/pseuds/shalashaskalot
Summary: Adam runs a bar in the late 60s; a certain regular catches his eye. Based on the song "Brandy" by Looking Glass. Simple one-shot, mostly fluff. Updated 11/19/2017 for formatting.





	Black Russian

**Author's Note:**

> I'd really recommend listening to the song here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVx8L7a3MuE before reading, or even while reading. Really sets the tone. Thanks for checking this out!

A person's drink of choice told Adam a lot about a customer. The same could be said about their general appearance as they sat down at his bar, but it was always their order that revealed the most about them. Was the man in the business suit with his tie undone and his glasses askew tired from work, or was it deeper than that? Maybe he was having an affair? Maybe he'd lost his job altogether? His order made him an open book and Adam was never one to simply skim the pages.

Familiarity bred regulars. Regulars tipped better and more frequently. Any information he could glean from just a Tom Collins was enough to start a conversation, and once Adam began to speak, the deal was sealed. Signed in blood, sealed with wax. They would come back again and again, every week, sometimes every day. Always asking for him.

Even the non-talkers were prone to loosening up to him after a few rounds. Not a single soul that sat at his bar was immune to his silver tongue and endless rack of liquors, including the blue-eyed ship captain who'd recently started warming the barstool nearest Adam's tip jar.

He caught Adam's eye immediately. Burly wasn't quite a strong enough word for him, and neither was rugged. The man looked like he'd seen a thousand years of war and Adam idly wondered if he was a veteran of some sort, but his drinks changed with every visit. Moscow Mule. Whiskey and Coke. Black Russian, only if it was rainy or snowy.

Adam always knew when the man disappeared for a few weeks that he was back out at sea, doing whatever it was he did, but he came to miss the smell of his cigars and his hulking presence at the center of the bar.

It wasn't until winter was in full swing and the harbor was almost completely closed that Adam saw him again. He came shuffling in near closing, shaking the snow and salt off his boots as he struggled to light his damp cigar. Adam failed to stifle the little flutter in his chest when he settled at his usual spot and _smiled_ , yes, he actually smiled this time and Adam felt light-headed.

Every night that he returned, Adam learned something new and interesting about him. He spoke several languages and would often make little inside jokes with Adam in Russian about the goings on at the bar; his pronunciation was fairly rusty, but hearing his native tongue in the man's gruff voice always sent a little shiver down Adam's spine. And his eyes, dear god his eyes always made Adam feel such a wild mix of intrigue and apprehension. They were so shrewd and cunning. Perceptive. Brighter and bluer than the sky on a clear summer day.

It became a sort of ritual between the two of them. The captain would come in near closing and talk with Adam far into the night, even as Adam cleaned the bar and counted out his register and tips. Most of the time, it ended up being just the two of them, and Adam wasn't as shy with his affections when they were alone. He would lean against the bar demurely, batting his lashes at the mahogany-haired sailor, idly wondering if any of his efforts were being noticed.

Adam's stomach dropped when one night he mentioned that the weather would be clearing soon. They sat in silence for a moment, both knowing what this meant, warily meeting each other's gazes. For the first time, Adam noticed the tear in the man's right iris. Blue and black stretched across each other like little strings of cobwebs, barely noticeable, but Adam lamented the fact that he wouldn't be able to study it again for quite some time.

"Where are you headed?" Adam asked, and the other man sighed.

"A couple places in Europe. It'll take us about a week to get there and I guess another just to hit all the drops," he answered. "Gonna be awfully cold."

"Why don't you get a job here? Seems a lot less...dangerous?"

"I love the ocean."

There was an unwavering truth in his eyes that Adam didn't dare question. And he definitely felt the connotations of his word choice. Love, not as in "I love going to the beach", but in a way that Adam knew he may never fully understand, no matter how long they remained friends.

When the man was gone for the night, Adam lingered around his barstool, mulling over when he'd be back until he noticed a napkin sitting beneath the edge of an ashtray. "J _ohn -- 1/13_ ", it read, followed by a phone number.

 

* * *

 

Adam marked the date on his calendar. Friday the 13th, January, 1967. The days seemed to slide by a little faster when he reminded himself of that particular date, so he even marked it subtly on the miniature calendar under his cash register. The napkin stayed pinned to his fridge in his apartment upstairs.

Sometimes, he doubted that their relationship was as deep as what he perceived it to be. When he finally went to bed in the earliest morning hours, he would lie there and replay all their interactions until he convinced himself one way or another and drifted off to sleep. Some nights, he liked to think that John was interested in him in _that way_. Why else would he have left his name and number? But then again, had he ever really openly flirted back? Adam wanted to believe that all the subtle cues weren't just in his head.

When the 13th rolled around, Adam called as soon as he woke up. He paced back and forth in his kitchen, his sock-feet sliding clumsily over the frigid honeycomb tile as he counted the rings. One. Two. Ten. Fourteen. His heart dropped a little until he realized it was only 10am, so he forced himself to get a shower and eat before he tried again.

Each ring sent his pulse a little higher until finally he heard the phone on other end crackle to life and his heart nearly stopped in his chest.

"John?" he asked quietly.

"Hey."

He couldn't fight the goofy grin that slid across his face.

"When do you close on Fridays?" John asked, and Adam could hear him flicking at a lighter.

"Ah...usually 2," Adam answered. "Why?"

"I want to see you."

"Oh! I mean, you know you can come in any time--"

"No, I...would really like it if you came over. I'm tired and I dunno if the bar is where I want to be tonight. But company would be nice."

Adam sank his face down into his red scarf as if John could see him blushing through the phone. He twirled his fingers through the phone cord anxiously, unsure of what to say, his heart hammering in his ribcage.

"Just tell me where," he finally bumbled.

John rattled off an address and by the time they said their goodbyes, Adam was nearly hyperventilating.

The night passed in a complete blur and soon Adam was standing in front of John's quaint cedar cabin, digging the toe of his boots into a crack in the stone pathway. When John opened the door his breath hitched in his chest and he froze, unsure of what to say, but John ushered him inside without question.

They spoke as if he had never left. It was easy to fall back into their conversational rhythm and Adam found himself hanging on John's every word as he told his stories about Europe. It was beautiful in the winter, he gushed. He admitted he wished he could have taken Adam with him, plucking at a little chord of warmth deep in Adam's chest.

This, too, became ritual. Evenings spent tucked into the corner of John's plush leather couch, talking until the sun rose and Adam's eyes stung from the dry heat of the flickering fireplace. John told him of all his favorite adventures, from sailing through storms to spending weeks stuck in Bermuda, nearly getting lightning struck, even seeing the mythical "green flash" on the horizon. Adam could only imagine him standing on the bow of a massive ship staring straight into the heart of a storm with his bright blue eyes, wind and rain in his face and lightning cracking behind him like something out of a movie.

Everything about John was so exotic and surreal. The early morning hours in his cabin made Adam feel as if he was stuck in time, like the world outside had come grinding to a halt and he would just be there forever listening to the snow and sleet fall while they talked about anything and everything that came to mind. It was dreamlike. Intimate, comfortable, warm. Unlike the bar that felt so cold and empty in the evenings. In fact, Adam came to resent how sequestered the bar made him feel. He hated standing behind it, separated physically by the slick wooden countertop.

Even the gap between them on the couch became isolating to Adam, and he always ended up gravitating toward John by the end of the night without ever thinking about it. It would only occur to him when it was time to go and John was bleary-eyed and sleepy, and by that time Adam figured that he hadn't even noticed their closeness.

Apparently, though, John had noticed at least once. It startled Adam when John caught him by the hand in passing, pulling him down into the couch and tucking him beneath a heavy arm. Adam hesitated, unsure of how to respond at first until John leaned his cheek against Adam's tousled platinum hair and sighed. Adam sank into his embrace, his face flushed, reveling in the heat of John's body and the relief of knowing that he was _right_. It wasn't all in his head, he wasn't making it up, John really did like him back _like that_.

 

* * *

 

The context and the atmosphere of their ritual changed. Instead of relaxing after his shifts, Adam found himself wound tighter than a watch spring on his walks to John's cabin. The anticipation of being in his hold, curled against his broad chest with his thick beard scratching against the top of Adam's head was overwhelming. It was addicting. The scent of John's cigars, the fabric of his black sweater, the nearly unbearable warmth that he radiated consumed Adam's every thought.

When they talked, John would sometimes trace Adam's face, skimming his sharp features with calloused but nimble fingers. Adam soaked up the contact like a dry sponge, leaning into his touch and idly wishing that he would just _kiss him already_ but he didn't push it. Even though he really wanted to.

And then the weather began to break.

"I have to go."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"I know."

John gave him a date, but Adam didn't hear it. He buried his face in John's black sweater and took a shuddering breath, trying to memorize his scent and the pattern of his heartbeat as John awkwardly stroked the side of his face.

"I want you to have something," John said quietly, untangling himself from Adam to disappear into his room. When he returned, he pulled Adam forward to sit up straight. "It's from Spain. I found it Ibiza on a beach. You always like it when I talk about Spain so..."

He slipped a thin silver chain over Adam's head, dropping the pendant and letting it thump against Adam's striped sweater.

"It's two Reales. The real deal out of the shipwreck. I had it set and never wore it," he added, adjusting the chain around Adam's neck affectionately.

"John, that's... I can't take this," Adam started, but John shook his head.

"What am I ever going to do with it? Keep it. Wear it for me."

The next day, John was gone.

 

* * *

 

Adam kept the coin tucked inside his sweater. The weight of it against his chest was comforting, in a way. The days dragged by, but the coin sat as a pleasant reminder that it would be over soon. Always bumping against his skin like a little metronome as he walked, the same rhythm of John's heartbeat.

 _A couple weeks isn't that long. It'll be over before you know it_ , Adam told himself, and he was right.

It seemed like only a few days had passed when in reality it was over a month. Adam felt as though he had simply slept too much and the days that were missing from his memory were just boring dreams. Occasionally, a customer or his coworkers would knock him out of his daze and he would snap rather violently back to present day, chiding himself for being so careless and air-headed. John was probably the reason why his tip jar was a little slim; Adam couldn't shake the daydreams and hazy imaginings of the day that John was supposed to return.

He pined for John like a lovesick puppy. He loved the warmth that bloomed in his chest when he thought about how John might kiss him some day, what it would feel like to be pulled tight against such a strong chest and feel wind-chapped lips brush against his.

When the day did finally come around, Adam went straight for John's cabin as soon as he woke up. It was Monday and the bar was closed, so there was absolutely nothing stopping him from spending the day with John. He couldn't imagine what they could do together with so much time on their hands and daylight to burn. Maybe there were westerns on TV, or they could go out to lunch.

He realized that it was barely even 9AM when John answered the door in his sweatpants and a ragged t-shirt.

"Couldn't stand it, could you?" John chuckled, and the sound of his voice made Adam's heart swell. "Had to see me."

"Did I wake you?"

"Sort of." He pulled Adam inside, his hands slipping beneath Adam's shearling coat clumsily. "I'll let it slide if you let me sleep a little longer."

Flustered by his closeness, Adam stumbled over the welcome mat. John's hands were nearly scalding against his chilled skin even through his thick sweater.

"I'll make breakfast--" he started, his own hands searching for purchase as John's swept over the taper of his waist sleepily.

"No...just stay with me."

The shearling coat disappeared, followed by his scarf. There was a brief moment where Adam felt painfully anxious, unsure of what John was asking, but then they were in his room and his boots were off and his sweater in the floor and...they were sleeping. So, so comfortably. There was no ulterior motive, no hidden meaning; John just wanted the contact. The intimacy of lying with someone skin-to-skin, trusting them to be in your bed with you in your most vulnerable state.

They dozed in the muted morning light together for what felt like the entire day, but Adam didn't dare disturb John. Not when things were this _perfect_. Adam loved the feeling of John's beard scratching against the back of his shoulder, moving ever so slightly in time with his breathing. He loved how John kept one arm draped over his waist, how he used it to pull Adam closer when even the slightest distance came between them. There was not a single thing in the entire world that Adam could think of that could possibly, even _remotely_ be better than lying there in John's arms.

Even if it did turn out to be completely one-sided in the end, Adam _loved_ John. Everything about him. The deep rumble of his voice, the way his calloused fingers traced little circles around the pendant on Adam's chest, the smell of his sweet cigars mixed with salt air and the smoldering embers in the fireplace. It was physically hard not to just stare at him in awe.

When Adam rolled to face him, he purposefully jostled John just a little, just to see if he would open his bright blue eyes and stare back at him across the pillow. Just a fleeting glimpse was enough to stir all the butterflies in Adam's stomach again and this time he memorized the pattern of John's torn iris, of all the little black spots spattered through the brilliant blue.

Their ritual evolved.

For days at a time, Adam's apartment would sit empty. He would slip out of the bar at exactly closing every night and hurry to John's cabin through the dark, having completely memorized the easiest ways to get there even in the pitch black. John would answer the door and pull him gently into his arms as if they hadn't seen each other for a week, even if John had come to the bar earlier, and they would curl up on the leather couch and talk until it was impossible to stay awake. Sometimes, they had a late night snack, but most of the time John would manage to get him to bed and they would sleep harder and better than either of them ever had before.

In the mornings, Adam would pitter around John's small kitchen and scratch together breakfast and coffee. John always woke up when he heard the coffee pot rattling around and would stumble into the kitchen, hair wild and tangled, just to loop his arms around Adam and watch dreamily over his shoulder.

Breakfast was always eaten by the fireplace as they watched the morning news. Adam knew he was a terrible cook but John never complained.

Adam hardly ever returned to his own apartment unless it was to change clothes and shower before work or to snag a bottle of liquor from his personal stash. People noticed and people talked, but he didn't care. Not when he knew John was waiting for him with the porch light on.

 

* * *

 

The first signs of spring filled Adam with a sense of dread. He knew that it was only a matter of time before John would be gone again, this time for maybe even longer, and it began to weigh on him.

John knew. For a while, they sat together at the kitchen table, idly sipping at a shared glass of whiskey before John could find the right words to say.

"It gets easier...if you just stick with me," John tried, twirling the butt of his cigar in an ash tray. "If you don't want to, I won't be mad at you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if me being gone all the time is too much, I understand if you don't want to do...--" he waved his hands around emphatically, unsure of the term, "this."

Adam's head snapped around in shock. "I want _this_!" he said breathlessly, and John seemed taken aback. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I think that I'm just promising to hurt you. Don't know how or when, but I just know it's going to happen. You'll get tired of me leaving, you'll get tired of being alone--"

"I won't."

"What if you do?"

"I won't. Even if this part of it doesn't get easier I'd still do it a million times over. I know you're coming back. I don't understand why you keep going but if I'm third wheel to the ocean then I'll take it if that means I get even a little time with you," Adam blurted. "Why do you go? Why don't you just stay with me?"

"If I could explain it, I would. You're not third wheel. I just... have to go. It's like being homesick, Adam. You know what that feels like. How long has it been since you've left Russia?" John countered, and Adam wanted so hard to understand but the analogy didn't quite fit.

"I've been here for nearly four years," Adam said softly. "But maybe if I stay here longer, I'll understand."

John sighed heavily, downing the last bit of whiskey in the glass. "I hope you never have to."

For the first time, there was a bit of an uncomfortable friction between them. Adam wasn't angry or upset, but John hadn't really made him feel any better about the situation. He curled up on his side of the bed, mulling over their conversation as John slid in beside him. John didn't reach over to pull him close.

Instead, John waited patiently. Adam was certain that he'd fallen asleep at some point and rolled to look at him out of curiosity, a little startled that they were already face-to-face, but then John's lips were on his and there were fingers tangling tightly in his hair to keep it that way.

John leveraged him into a searing kiss, earning a soft sigh as their mouths moved together almost clumsily. Both of them were unsure, especially John, and they struggled for a moment until Adam finally broke away from him with a chuckle.

"Where did you learn how to kiss?" he teased, silently hoping that it was dark enough that John couldn't see the blush that was stinging his cheeks.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"And that means...?" Adam pressed. He brushed their noses together playfully, his heart fluttering wildly as John pulled him closer.

"It means I want you to show me how."

Adam mouthed a little "oh". Completely flustered, he fumbled for words, pressing John gently onto his back so that he could lie across his chest. John's hands roamed across his bare back and the taper of his waist curiously, very timidly as if he was asking for permission, but Adam reveled in the feeling of rough palms against his skin.

"You just...relax, for one," he started, and John took a deep breath. "Don't think about it as moving against me, think about moving with me. You like water. Be like water. Soft, smooth, flowing..."

Tentatively, John leaned up for another kiss. He hesitated, searching Adam's eyes for any sort of confirmation; _am I doing this right_?

Adam closed the gap between them and when John finally kissed back, he felt as if his soul had left his body. This kiss was _right_ , everything about it was perfect. The taste of whiskey on John's lips, the way their noses bumped together, the way John's beard scratched at his face. They came up for air only for a split second before John was pulling him down into another kiss and this time there was no shyness or clumsiness. Only the gentle rhythm of his kisses, slow and steady, cadent like ocean waves lapping against the sand.

They kissed until the sun began to filter through the bedroom windows and their lips were swollen and pink, tangled in each other's limbs and the crisp blankets. There would be no breakfast, only light dozing, enough for Adam to be functional at work that night, and even then they still found their sleep punctuated by roaming hands and searching lips.

 

* * *

 

There was no time for this to be added to their ritual. John was gone within the week and Adam had never felt more empty in his entire life. He struggled at work to the point that his boss asked him to take a few nights off and collect himself. Several people asked if he was sick, but he couldn't give them an answer. His apartment was cold and lonesome. His bar was dreary and dark. It took him quite some time to get back into his usual swing but by then the damage had been done and rumors ran rampant around the small town.

 _Adam's got a girl_ , they would say. _Where is she? She leave you? Or is she back in Russia?_

He downplayed it every time, only giving vague and meaningless answers. Every day, someone would ask. And every day he would repeat the same answers like a broken record. It was interesting to him how quickly they dismissed their old gossip about him always being with John for something they found a little more palatable, but in the end he was thankful that they had dropped it.

Or at least he thought they did.

The first time John's name spilled out of the mouth of a drunken customer, Adam felt his stomach churn. "I see you walk over there every night," the man slurred, looking at Adam over the top of skewed glasses. "Do you live with him?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing?"

For the first time in his life, Adam didn't have an answer. His hesitation was enough of an answer and the man ran with it. In the morning, when the boss unlocked the front doors, he found hundreds of pieces of paper all over the front porch with every slur in the book printed across them in bright red ink. Adam especially hated the way they stuck in random backwards letters as a terrible rip on Cyrillic script.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" the boss asked, cornering Adam behind the bar. He tossed a handful of letters onto the counter. "Why are my customers complaining about you?"

"It's just rumors," Adam snapped. "I don't have any other friends. What am I supposed to do? Stay here alone every single night and stare at my own ceiling?"

"If it keeps people from talking, then yes. You'd better be thankful I even hired you in the first place, you know nobody else would hire--"

"Yes, a foreigner, I get it. I thought we were all past the big Red Scare."

The boss eyed him for a moment, obviously biting his tongue. "Don't push it, kid," he grumbled. "You know who that was you were talking to?"

"I've only seen him twice."

"That was the head of the city council."

"Then who does this reflect poorly on? He's making a baseless accusation and taping obscene words to the front of your business," Adam shot back. "Where I spend my free-time is none of his concern."

And that was that. Words were had with the boss and some other city official and soon the letters and papers slowed to almost nothing. Adam found his customers wandering back in, some even apologizing, and eventually he slipped back into his old groove. There were some nights that he had to resort to taking a few shots before work, but he struggled through it.

He could not afford to let his facade slip again.

 

* * *

 

By the time John returned, the snow had begun to melt away. Green grass and early flowers began to poke out of the ice and Adam realized just how long he had really been gone.

The absolute second that the bar closed, Adam was on his way to John's cabin. He took a few different routes, plotting his way around the known gossipers, and when he reached the pine grove and stone pathway he felt a sense of safety. No one could judge him if they couldn't see him in the first place.

When the door opened, John yanked him inside rather ungracefully. Lips crashed against his and his back hit the wall beside the door, hands slipping beneath his sweater to canvas his chest and ribs greedily. He could feel their feet moving, shuffling towards something unknown until they sank into the leather couch breathlessly.

John made love to him that night as if they would never, ever see each other again.

Even through all of the hiccups and embarrassing first-time moments, it was the single most genuinely romantic thing Adam had ever experienced. It wasn't roses and chocolate but he felt _wanted_ and that was infinitely better than cheesy dates with gaudy overtones of what romance was supposed to look like according to movies.

Afterward, Adam lay tucked beneath his heavy arm, tracing little circles in the coarse hair of his chest. He mulled endlessly over telling John what had happened.

"I got the letters too, kid," John mumbled, and Adam's heart sank. "I know that's what you're thinking about."

"It's my fault."

"Don't. Just... I ah, have something for us. I wasn't going to tell you until later but I don't think I have a choice anymore."

"What do you mean?" Adam asked, raising his head up curiously, but John pulled him back down beneath his arm.

"I need you to do something in the morning. Promise me you'll go and get your clothes and all the things you can carry and be back before noon. Okay?"

"John..."

"Promise me."

He did. And he followed through with his promise. He slipped out of bed early in the morning and tiptoed his way to his apartment, snatching as many clothes as he could fit into his bag and the only few valuables he even owned. He made it back far before noon but John was already waiting on him when he returned. John had several bags of his own all filled to the brim and suddenly Adam realized where this could all be headed.

"Are we just going to run away?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper as John ushered him back toward the main road. "Is that your plan? Run at the first sign of trouble? They're starting to forget about it--"

"Yes and no. Yes, we're leaving. No, that wasn't originally the whole plan. Just come on," John told him.

Each turn led them exactly where Adam expected to go: the harbor. John pulled him down pier after pier until at last they were standing in front of a shiny new sailboat, hand-in-hand, staring up at it wordlessly.

For quite some time, the only sounds between them were distant seagull cries and waves splashing against the pier. The salt air was harsh and cold and the sway of the boat made Adam a little dizzy, but he knew what John wanted to say. This was for them. All for them. John squeezed his hand as if to say yes, like he knew what he was thinking.

" _The Joy_. I picked her up yesterday," John said quietly. "I've been saving for my own boat for years."

"You want to...?"

"Yeah. She's ready to go. Just need to stop for food somewhere on our way out."

Adam took a deep, shuddering breath.

"You can say no," John added, but Adam shook his head.

"Let's go. Let's just go."

John smiled, that smile, the one that made Adam so light-headed and warm. The one that made John's blue eyes glitter even in the overcast morning light.

"Let's go, then," John echoed softly. "It's a long way to Ibiza from here."


End file.
